Rain is hitting the window, running in streams like the tears on my face. I am alone in bed. An impression on the pillow beside me indicates the recent presence of another. I bury my face in it. The scent of his aftershave lingers. He thinks I am asleep. In the still of the night, the sound of a car starting up and driving away.

Driving to her. To her bed and her eager willing body. She will ask no questions. She does not want to know the answers.

She is the other woman. I am his wife.